


Tricky to Treat

by khasael



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Halloween, Inspired by Photography, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loves Halloween. Derek hates it. Luckily, Stiles has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tricky to Treat

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing can be blamed upon [MajaLi](http://archiveofourown/users/majali) (yes, I blame her for things in multiple fandoms. She seems perfectly okay with this). Before I had even made my way through a third of S2 (and had most definitely not started writing in this fandom), she asked if I had planned to write any fics (any fandom) for Halloween. When I said I had not, but was not opposed to doing so, she linked me to [this (NSFW) image](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lt6vfsBJYA1qa5j7uo1_500.jpg). So, yeah, that was pretty much the end of the whole 'I don't know if I'm writing for TW' thing. This fic...er..."popped up" within milliseconds.
> 
> Apologies for posting this now, as it's switched over to November, but when I finally got home from a very long work day and much-needed dinner with a fandom friend, I found I had no internet. But hey, it wouldn't be fair to deny the boys this bit of fun, just because I angered some gods of technology, so here you go, a day late ;)

Derek's not exactly the type of guy to encourage lengthy conversation and debate on a good day, and this is definitely not a good day.

His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed, and Stiles is pretty sure that if Derek had something in his hands, he'd be in danger of shattering it, no matter what it might be made of.

It takes all of Stiles's limited willpower and restraint to not open his mouth and start arguing, but he still can't help the "Why?" that escapes him before he can bite down on it.

Derek sighs, and he sounds both angry and weary when he repeats Stiles's question. "Why?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, though pressing the point is only going to end badly for him, he knows. "Why -- _how_ \-- can you hate Halloween?"

Derek's jaw clenches, and it's obvious his reason isn't like how some people hate Valentine's Day because roses go from ten dollars a dozen to forty for a two-day period, or that Christmas decorations seem to pop up in stores earlier and earlier every year, until they're going to reach a point where there are plastic Santa Claus decorations next to the Fourth of July fireworks displays. "Why wouldn't I?"

Stiles can think of about a hundred reasons, because Halloween is undoubtedly his favorite holiday, even if his dad does always make him tag along to the early-ass organized candy distribution thing for the kiddies of Beacon Hills, or force him to help set up one of those places where parental volunteers and deputies go through all the kids' stuff after they're done collecting candy, to make sure everything's safe. He may have to put up with that, but once it's dark, his dad releases him to do his own thing, so long as it's not breaking any laws (...or he doesn't get caught, anyway, because, yeah, technically, even 'light' vandalism's illegal).

Sheriff Stilinski doesn't say that last part, but Stiles likes to think it's pretty obviously implied.

"Because! Because it's a chance to run around in the evening! It's a chance to let your imagination run wild! It's the one night you can be whatever you want!" He miraculously shuts his mouth before he says the rest of what he's thinking, which is _because it's a chance to be something you're not, with whatever abilities you want!_ Because that reminds him, just a little, of what Peter had said to him not all that long ago, and he doesn't need that can of worms opened right now. "You can just goof around and have fun!"

Admittedly, Stiles isn't sure if Derek's ever _tried_ the 'fun' thing. His guess would be no, unless that fun included giving someone else a hard time, or toying with them a little.

It doesn't look like Stiles's impassioned arguments have led to any startling epiphany for Derek about what he's missing by not dressing up and going out and maybe playing a couple of harmless pranks. In fact, Stiles can see the way Derek's knuckles are white, his fingers wrapped around the back of the chair at the kitchen table where he's standing. "Maybe that works for you," he finally says, and, whoa, there's a lot of anger in that voice, years of issues beneath the words, and it reminds Stiles of the few times Derek's ever mentioned Kate Argent, or what she and those other fuckers did to Derek's family almost seven years ago.

"Then what is it?" Stiles nearly shouts, his arms flailing in exasperation. He sits heavily in one of the wooden chairs, nearly falling right out of it when he lands off-center. "What's so bad about Halloween?"

Derek inhales loudly, and Stiles can see that he's deliberately getting himself under control, rather than wolfing out a little and just snarling, before he walks away without answering -- which is about the way things go most of the time Stiles crosses a line with his questions. Though, usually, Stiles is pretty aware he's crossing lines, but he can't help it, because he's missing that bit of his brain that filters things before they come out of his mouth.

Stiles secretly thinks that maybe his filter was given to Derek, who has two, because it's like pulling teeth to have a real conversation with him sometimes, even with as much as he's easing up around Stiles. Work in progress.

"You _really_ want to know why I hate Halloween?"

"Yes! That's how conversations work, Derek: someone asks a question, because they want to know something, someone else gives an actual answer, and then, if things go well, there's a _dialogue_ or discussion about things, and everyone learns something."

Derek's eyes flash, not alpha-red, at least, but just with plain old anger. Some of that's directed at Stiles, annoyance for bringing up this whole thing -- whatever it is -- in the first place, but Stiles can tell most of it's just the hatred he has for Halloween. It still doesn't make Stiles feel happy.

"I spend my life avoiding Hunters," Derek says, each word measured and deliberate, carrying enough weight that Stiles can practically feel them, "because they think I'm a monster. People -- _regular_ people, not people like you, Stiles -- would be freaked the fuck out to know that there really are werewolves wandering around, and life isn't all just conveniently-wandering-around mountain lions. But on Halloween, I'm supposed to reconcile people wanting to cut me in half, or burn my family alive, just because of what we can't help being, with everyone suddenly saying werewolves are cool, and wanting to be one?" He shakes his head. "So forgive me if I don't think it's fun to dress up, or decorate the house in paper pumpkins and plastic skeletons, or play childish pranks, or feel affectionate towards kids and teenagers who put on werewolf masks."

Stiles wisely keeps from saying something about how Derek doesn't exactly seem to feel affectionate toward anyone, period, because...well, because it's a bad time for jokes, and because he also knows that's not really true. Derek's never going to be all sugary sweetness and candy hearts and roses, but Stiles can totally live with that. With Derek, it's all about noticing the small gestures, and realizing how much they mean. It's like... like when your cat (or dog, actually, that's better) kills something or finds something disgusting and lays it at your feet, and you have to remember that it thinks it's being loving, even if you just want to freak out and shove it away.

...That's an analogy Stiles is probably never going to share with Derek, actually, no matter how accurate it may be.

"All right," Stiles says, and he tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, and stomps all over the frustration that's trying to rise up within him. "I won't harass you about it anymore. I won't ask you to come out with me, and I won't mention Lydia's party again." He says the next thing before his brain can stop his mouth: "In fact, I won't go out, either."

Derek looks at him, obviously surprised. "You won't?"

Well, he's committed now, damn it. "I won't."

"I didn't say _you_ \--" Derek says, frowning, before faltering. "It's just that _I_ don't want to--"

"Yeah, no, I know," Stiles says, flapping a hand at him to get him to shut up, because if Derek gets all flustered and guilty, Stiles is going to feel seriously awful. "It's not a big deal. We'll stay in, just have a quiet night or something away from all the morons outside." Morons like him, who enjoy a bit of fun and a night to slip into someone else's skin.

But relationships require sacrifice, right? Derek sacrifices...sacrifices having quiet, and someone not talking his ear off, and not having someone who will call him out on shit and argue with him on a regular basis. Actually, that last thing's part of what Stiles enjoys in this relationship, and he's pretty sure Derek does, too. Stiles can give up running around with Scott for a night, being a stupid kid, and making bets as to how many slutty angels or cats or witches they'll run into, and even seeing what awesome setup Lydia comes up with. No big deal, right?

Derek gives him that constipated look, like he wants to say something else, but can't find the words, or like he's experiencing feelings of some sort and can't figure out how to deal with that, and Stiles waits, in case he comes up with something. After a moment, Derek sort of grunts and leaves the room, but he does pause for just a second behind Stiles, bringing one hand up to rest on Stiles's shoulder and give a light squeeze that seems to be a stand-in for 'thank you.'

Stiles sighs. This is totally not the relationship he saw himself having, but they work together, somehow, and that's really all he cares about.

Still, he can't stop his brain from insisting that there's got to be _something_ \-- some single, solitary thing -- that might make Derek not loathe Halloween entirely.

* -- * -- *

Stiles has managed to not mention Halloween at all since that night in the kitchen, even if it is weird to not be zipping in and out of all those costume and supply stores that pop up for a month in otherwise empty storefronts. He does kind of miss going in and considering the different masks, or examining the makeup and effects kits, or even just seeing what kind of crazy props and decorations are on offer. But it's not the end of the world or anything.

It's when he's driving by one of these places on the way to drop off his old fog machine for Lydia's costume party the following night -- she won't tell him what she's going to be, but guarantees it's going to be awesome -- that he comes up with his plan. It's simple and... okay, maybe _elegant_ isn't the word, but it's kind of clever, mostly because it's so easy.

It has the potential to backfire spectacularly -- either angering Derek or humiliating Stiles, but most likely accomplishing both feats -- but Stiles has to give it a shot anyway. He has to at least _try_. It's the Stilinski in him or something, that can't just leave well enough alone.

* -- * -- *

"Stiles?"

Derek's voice floats upstairs in the empty house, and Stiles takes a deep breath, but doesn't reply. This is it. Time to put his plan into action.

Stiles can hear Derek moving around downstairs, kicking off his shoes, and figures he's got about two minutes, maybe a little less, to put the, uh, finishing touches on his plan. He's been mostly ready for the last three hours, and almost dozed off at one point, which would have totally killed his plan. But, with a little finesse and a skilled touch, he's good to go.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice is a little louder this time, a little sharper, and Stiles wonders just how stupid this idea is, too late to really give it up. "Hey, Stiles?" A pause, and Stiles can hear him move closer to the stairs. "I saw your Jeep, okay? I know you're here." There's another pause. "At least, you'd better be."

Instead of answering, Stiles moves very, very slowly, reclining on the bed so that his head's at the foot of it. He positions himself just right, adds the finishing touch, then lets his head hang just a little off of the mattress, so that he'll basically be looking at Derek's knees, upside down, when he walks in.

"Goddamn it, Stiles," Derek mutters as he makes his way up the stairs, the acoustics carrying the words clearly to the master bedroom, and the quick and heavy footfalls make Stiles aware that maybe all the silence is giving the wrong impression. "I swear to God, you better not have gotten yourself kidnapped or something. I'll be more irritated than if you'd gone to Lydia's party."

Well, that's actually kind of sweet, maybe, that Derek's concerned, even if it's a weird way of saying so.

"I had a really bad day, and it's fucking _Halloween_ , so you'd better just be listening to headphones and not bleeding to death," Derek calls, his voice loud now that he's reached the top of the stairs. "A dead boyfriend isn't exactly going to improve my mood!"

The door to the bedroom flies open at that, but Stiles is expecting it enough that he doesn't jump or otherwise flail. Instead, he's just as he's planned to be: naked, lying face-up on the bed with his legs slightly spread, and a white handkerchief with little black circles for eyes and a mouth draped over his fully-hard dick. From Derek's angle, it should look like a cute little ghost, just hovering there. To finish it off, _HAPPY HALLOWEEN _is written on his stomach in melted chocolate.__

__Derek's stopped dead in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob, and Stiles can't really read his expression with his head at this angle. About a half-second before Stiles can start to worry he's only made Derek even more unhappy than he already was tonight, he gets a response:_ _

__Derek laughs. Seriously, honest-to-God _laughs_. It's loud and lasts several seconds, and there's no mocking in it, just a wide smile that comes out so rarely Stiles can count the number of times he's seen it on one hand and still have fingers to spare._ _

__It's actually better than having Derek just come pounce on him in a fit of lust._ _

__Stiles waits for Derek to quiet down, then grins at him, shifting so at least his head's not upside down. The movement makes the ghost bob back and forth, and drags the material pleasantly over Stiles's dick. "So," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Are you going to stand there and laugh, or are you going to come here and lick this chocolate off of me?"_ _

__Derek's crossing the room before Stiles even finishes the question, and he's still grinning as he reaches the foot of the bed, looking down at Stiles with his head cocked. "Really?"_ _

__"What?" Stiles asks, shrugging. "You can't have Halloween without chocolate, okay?"_ _

__Derek shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little, but that doesn't stop him from climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees and running his tongue over the 'N' in "Halloween," nipping just a tiny bit at the bare skin there. "Yeah, okay," he agrees, stopping Stiles from any further point-making with a kiss that's richer than the chocolate on his tongue. Stiles sighs into Derek's mouth, feeling pleased with himself, when Derek sits up and removes his own shirt, discarding it onto the floor before leaning back down and grazing his teeth over the small hollow between Stiles's ear and jaw._ _

__"Maybe tonight's not so bad after all," Derek murmurs into his ear, reaching one hand down to stroke Stiles's dick through the silk handkerchief, chuckling when Stiles moans and cants his hips up into Derek's hand._ _

__Yeah. Stiles is going to chalk this one up as a definite win._ _


End file.
